The Line
by Rdr2
Summary: Long ago, Batman laid down the rules of crimefighting: do not kill. When Robin crosses the line, he puts Slade on a hospital bed and one of the World’s Finest comes to pay the Boy Killer a visit. Some RobinRaven. Rated for language. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Long ago, Batman laid down the rules of crimefighting: do not kill. When Robin crosses the line, he puts Slade on a hospital bed and one of the World's Finest comes to pay the Boy Killer a visit. Some Robin/Raven. Rated for language. COMPLETE_

**Chapter One: The Line is Crossed**

Robin had spent the past two weeks hunting down Slade. The villain had launched another scheme to throw the city into disarray and panic, even as he simultaneously sent his robot minions to seize the vaults of the city's banks. But like any caper involving Slade, the plot was more than it seemed. Robin was not entirely sure what else his nemesis had in store, had only a bare-bones inkling of what Slade's real motive was…but it was enough to fuel the Boy Wonder into action.

Now Robin was only meters behind Slade himself, running the villain ragged across the rooftops of a city in turmoil. On the streets below, Starfire and Raven ran crowd control, using their powers to protect innocent bystanders from falling debris as Slade's robots flagrantly destroyed buildings in a haze of rampant carnage. Leaping around those robots were Cyborg and Beast Boy, tearing through the enemy ranks one minion at a time.

Robin kept a mental eye on his comrades and their progress even as he focused his conscious attention on Slade. The villain's distinctive armor was so familiar to him now, so sickeningly, frighteningly familiar. Robin could have molded every contour on a piece of clay if he wanted to, so well did he know Slade's figure and form. It made him want to throw up.

"Slade!" Robin shouted, drawing a birdarang from his belt, "you're under arrest!" He threw the weapon in a tight arc, but Slade simply batted the object out of the air with a gauntleted fist—as Robin expected. He did not bother to curse. Slade was as skilled a warrior as he was. As skilled a detective. As skilled a mastermind. Perfect equals, two halves of the same coin.

The villain stopped and turned suddenly. "Robin, Robin," he crowed in that silky, condescending voice of his, "I'm disappointed in you. Only one? Where are the other five you keep in that miraculous belt of yours?" Robin did not grit his teeth as he would have if anyone else had said those words. As Robin knew Slade, so did Slade know Robin—every move, every thought, every nuance. The contents of a utility belt were a pittance mystery compared to all else.

Slade made a gesture. "Come, come. Show me what you really can do." With that, the villain turned away and resumed his run. Robin burst into movement, throwing two more birdarangs, which his quarry simply dodged. Then he drew forth another tool and pulled the trigger. The grappling gun screamed as it sent its decel line ahead with the speed of a bullet. The cord wrapped around Slade's legs. Robin tugged.

From where he lay, Slade grunted with respect, "An interesting gambit."

The Boy Wonder placed a booted foot on the fallen villain's armored chest. "Got you, scumball," he growled.

Somehow—from that strange empathy he shared with this dark-hearted mastermind—Robin knew that Slade was smiling behind his mask. Indeed, his voice held a subtle amusement when he replied, "Do you really, Robin?" The armored head tilted toward an armored gauntlet. Robin followed with his own gaze. Slade's once-empty fingers suddenly held a high-caliber pistol, drawn from some secret compartment. Slade turned the firearm at Robin and pulled the trigger.

Robin didn't have the chance to dodge; a cry escaped his lips as the slug slammed into his shoulder full-force. He fell on his back, his hand going to the wound. Uncharacteristic panic flooded his senses—he had never been shot before! His mind whirled. He had been shot _at_ before, sure, Oh, God, it hurt! He had never been hit before. Oh, God!

Robin grunted, brought himself back under control. Calm down, he reminded himself sternly. Remember your training. Remember what Batman taught you. Batman…when was the last time he thought about his mentor? No, Dick! Concentrate! Think about the wound. It was a hollow point slug—that was why it hurt so much. Expansion upon impact. God, it hurt. Think about it, Dick. Hollow points. They're all about stopping power, not penetration. This wound isn't as bad as it could be. Come, on, Dick, stand up.

Robin stood up. He did not hold his wound anymore; the blood trickled down his arm unheeded. Slade was getting away and that was all that mattered to him.

He quickly closed the gap between him and Slade, tackling the armored villain to the ground. They wrestled, they grappled, they punched, and they struggled, but neither could gain the upper hand. Rolling on their backs in such close quarters limited their fighting prowess. And then Slade slid a hand under Robin's leading thigh. Robin, well-versed in unarmed combat, knew immediately what was coming. But he was too light and Slade too heavy. He knew with sickening certainty that he could not hope to defeat Slade's reversal. Robin sailed head over heels, crashing onto his back.

And saw the muzzle of the gun in his face.

"I would have wanted a more memorable way to end this," Slade said apologetically. The hammer cocked back with the grim snick of metal. "But I'm playing for higher stakes right now and I can't afford to be stopped. Goodbye, Robin."

For the first time in his life, Robin was afraid. He had faced death before: many times at Batman's side as the other half of the Dynamic Duo, and many more as leader of the Teen Titans. But every time was an encounter he _knew_ he could walk away from. Never before had a gun, that beautifully deadly gun, been so close to his eye.

Desperation spurred his movements. He kicked out, his foot striking a pressure point in Slade's wrist. Instead of knocking the gun clear out of the villain's hand, the kick simply made Slade let go. The weapon fell into Robin's hand.

And suddenly, Robin was pulling the trigger.

The blast was deafening. Even more deafening was the sound of a slug entering a metal helmet.

Robin gasped and panted, adrenaline leaking out of his system once the ringing sound of gunfire had left his ears. Then he saw Slade's motionless body. And then he saw Slade's eyes. Cold, frightened…gone.

And Robin screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Hard Reality**

"How's he doing?" Starfire asked amidst the confusion. The fires were being put out and the wounded were being sent in ambulances to the hospital. The fact that Slade was on one of the stretchers was disquieting to the Teen Titans. His helmet was gone, revealing his face to the young heroes: he had a strong chin, a bold forehead, and well-groomed hair. He would have been breathtakingly handsome, were it not for the bullet lodged in his forehead or the blood spreading across his eyes and cheeks like a macabre spider web.

Cyborg looked at the comatose Slade as the paramedics hauled him into the ambulance. He shuddered when he noticed all the morphine drips and stabilizing equipment that the villain was hooked up to. "The doctors say he might make it," Cyborg said quietly. "The helmet absorbed most of the impact. But the range was point blank when Robin…." He could not finish the sentence.

Beast Boy was uncharacteristically silent. Starfire turned away, hugging herself, suddenly overcome with chills not caused by the night wind. Raven was the only one who could look upon Slade's battered body without shuddering. Emotionless, totally objective, she regarded their nemesis' pallid features with interest. "Yes, he will live," she said prophetically. "Slade is like Robin. Both are men who simply won't die until they want to."

"You shouldn't compare Rob with that creep," Cyborg said, his voice going hard. Then he looked sheepish. "Sorry, Rave. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just…you know…."

"Yes," Raven said softly, her eyes following the ambulance that drove away with Slade's body. "I know."

"So," Starfire began, only to falter. She cleared her throat and tried again. "So how is Robin doing?"

"He left soon after the paramedics came in," Cyborg reported. He had been the first to see Robin's…handiwork. There had been so much blood. Robin, cradling Slade's unconscious body, the helmeted head in his lap. Blood—Slade's blood—spilling on Robin's lap. Robin crying. Robin never cried. Cyborg shook the image from his mind, wishing that his memory core were not so damned precise. He continued, "I don't know where he went and he's not answering his comm."

"We can try calling Titan Tower," Raven said. She pressed a button on her communicator and regarded the results. "He's not responding, if he's even there." The dark-haired girl looked around and said, "There's nothing left for us to do here. We should head back."

They found Titan Tower wrapped in darkness, clutched in disarray. The lights were off, the computers powered down. Vases, paintings, access terminals all lay in shattered pieces. Fists had torn the walls and doors apart. The darkness only added a desperate edge to the violence that had descended upon Titan Tower like a whirlwind.

But the Teen Titans did not think a villain had come to their headquarters. They knew at once what had destroyed their home. His despairing cries were roaring through the halls like a haunting, vengeful, self-destructive ghost. The very sound sent terror through Beast Boy's spine and threw Cyborg's sensors into confusion. Starfire recoiled and fell to her knees, sobbing at the sound. Even Raven, so distant and in control of her emotions, felt tears well in her eyes and goosebumps crawl up her arms.

The Titans approached Robin's room warily. The cries had softened to sobs, now. Cyborg somehow found the courage to open the door. The sight within was like a nightmare given form.

Robin had always been proud of his room. He never openly bragged about it to anyone and he rarely let anyone inside because it was a room dedicated to crimefighting, to being a detective. It was not the kind of room that would have attracted any interest from innocent Starfire, dark Raven, or carefree Beast Boy and Cyborg. This had always been a room devoted to study and work. And he loved it.

The desk was always littered: gadgets that Robin was working on, repairing, or improving; clues picked up on a case; case files; notes written in Robin's hard, slanted, diligent handwriting. The desk always a good indicator of what Robin was thinking about. It was a habit he picked up from when he worked in Gotham City.

But if the desk was Robin's mind, then the walls were his memory. They were practically wallpapered in photos and newspaper clippings of the Titans' victories. One wall was layered in such mementos, but they were of when Robin was working with Batman and Batgirl back in Gotham City. Before the Titans, before Slade.

But now the desk was overturned, the clues and gadgets scattered forlornly on the floor. The walls were torn asunder, the pictures and clippings shredded. The wall of Robin's earlier days had taken the brunt of the punishment. Holes pocked the wall, evidence of a fist striking it. A chair had been thrown into it. So had a lead paperweight. Every image of Batman's face had been ripped apart.

It looked like a vision of hell.

Sitting in a corner was Robin, cloaked in that personal hell. His mask was discarded, thrown atop the remnants of Batman's visage. His cape and belt, too. He just sat there, burying his face in his hands. The tears had long since been cried out of him. He sat there, just sat there. Unmoving. Like Slade.

Beast Boy should have said something lighthearted. A joke, perhaps.

Cyborg should have offered to play video games, to relive the stress.

Starfire should have tried to comfort him.

Raven would have at least tried to talk to him, to play the role of confidant and nonjudgmental advisor.

But they didn't. None of them moved. They were out of their element, for none of them had ever dealt with a wound so close to their hearts. Never before had their mission, their responsibilities as superheroes, taken such a hard and brutal reality. They were unprepared, confused, and afraid. And eventually, they left him there, completely unable to help their friend come to terms with his grief.

The door closed. Robin didn't even notice. In his mind, he still saw Slade's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: The Abyss Grows**

"_When you stare into the Abyss, the Abyss stares back through you."_

Friedrich Nietzsche

Alfred was always so prompt. The ever-proper butler already had a tray of painkillers and several rolls of bandages in hand when the master of the house limped back into the Batcave.

"I trust the sting went well, Master Bruce?"

The Batman, a terrible and fearsome vision to Gotham's criminal element, smirked. "As well as could be expected. Two-Face made a mistake in his defenses, as I expected, but he recovered well." He pointed at the bullet wound in his shoulder and his split lip. "He had the Two Ton Gang with him on this one. The sting operation worked itself out on its own, really. I wasn't really needed this time around. Commissioner Gordon was able to handle things well enough."

"And how do you explain the mess you're trailing into the house?" Alfred inquired primly, turning a nose at the trail of blood Batman was leaving behind him.

"Two-Face tried to escape," Batman replied tersely. He took a pair of pliers from the tray and extracted the bullet from his own shoulder. He didn't even grunt. The bullet and the pliers fell on the tray with a dull clang.

"This was the only major debacle this entire month, wasn't it, Master Bruce?" Alfred noted.

Batman nodded, busily binding his own injuries. When he was finished, he elaborated in his gravelly tone, "After I put the Joker into Arkham last month, everyone's been keeping their heads low. Most in the Rogues Gallery don't want to end up with a broken jaw, broken arm, broken leg, broken pelvis…you get the idea."

"Your tactics have certainly gotten…more intimidating in recent months, Master Bruce," Alfred said with thinly-veiled disapproval.

"I'm losing the city, Alfred," Batman said with a sigh. He limped to a precipice overlooking the seemingly bottomless abyss of the Batcave. The sounds of hissing and flapping wings echoed from the shadows. Batman stared into the darkness and let it stare back through him. Nietzsche suddenly ran through his mind. "I'm losing the city to the criminals and I had to send them a message. This city is still under my protection. Even if I have to walk as close to the line as I've ever been."

"Just make sure you don't cross it," Alfred said sharply, warningly.

Batman sighed. "I know. I fear the day that happens, every time I put on this mask. The war, Alfred…the war against others, against yourself…one grows tired of it, sometimes."

"You never seemed to worry when Master Richard was around."

A frown slashed through Batman's strong face. "We…did not part on the gladdest of terms, did we?"

"One would think that was where this whole mess started, Master Bruce. Young Master Richard always seemed to bring in a bit of sunshine into this dismal place. I cannot say I completely agree with his decision to forge his own path—he is, what? Only seventeen—but I cannot say I completely disagree, sir."

Batman's brows curled down in irritation. He did not like being reminded of his parting words with his onetime partner. "Your point, Alfred?" The tone was hard, and the gravel had turned to immovable granite.

Alfred recognized the stubbornness growing in Gotham's fiercest crimefighter and was undaunted. "My point, with all due respect, sir, is that Master Richard was right. You're becoming what you're fighting against, and its frightening. To him, to Miss Barbara, and to me. What Robin and Batgirl need is someone to look up to and emulate, Bruce. All you've been these past few months is a slave driver or worse—a general. A general turning young people into your soldiers in your personal war."

Batman growled but turned his head away, unable to defend himself against the cold logic—and the colder truth—behind his oldest friend's words. "I…" Batman faltered. "I…I…was wrong."

Suddenly, Alfred smiled. "There, now was that so difficult? Don't you feel better now, Master Bruce?"

"I don't know why I let you get away with these things," Batman replied, his voice lighter than it had been in months.

Alfred folded his arms across his chest in a rare moment of superiority. "I diapered your bottom. I bloody well should get away with it." Then, smiling with the humor of the moment, Alfred took a rolled newspaper from the tray. "Today's news, Master Bruce."

"Thank you, Alfred." Batman unfurled the paper and read the headline. And then his eyes widen in shock.

"Is something the matter, Master Bruce?"

Batman said nothing. He just showed him the front page.

ROBIN—MURDERER?

The Boy Wonder Sends Criminal Mastermind to Hospital. Condition Critical.

When Batman spoke, his voice had returned to its granite grimness. "Alfred. Prep the Batmobile."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: The Abyss Engulfs**

Titan Tower's crime alarm blared loudly through the still-ruined halls. It was not the best time for it to be blaring. Only two days had passed since Slade was hospitalized, his condition still critical. Two days since Robin had locked himself in his room, never stepping out once, not even to eat. Worry was mounting in Titan Tower like a bomb waiting to explode, and the crime alarm might have just set it off.

This time Starfire was the one who approached Robin's door. For a while, she thought there was something between them. Maybe it was puppy love, maybe it could have been something more. Whatever it was, Slade had torn a rift between them. Nothing would be the same ever again, but she would be a sorry friend indeed if she didn't at least try to help Robin through this ordeal. So, with the alarm blaring in the background, she meekly knocked on the door.

"Robin, we are needed," she said, half-pleading. She waited with bated breath and when he didn't immediately respond, she took in another breath to repeat herself. But the door opened. Robin stood in the threshold, his face haggard with two days' worth of beard prickling his chin. The mask, belt, and cape had found its way back to his uniform, but they hung loosely on him. He was gaunter, thinner. He was tired.

Starfire wanted to hold him, give him strength through the embrace of a friend. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a shadowed glare, a hidden warning…do not touch me, that look said. Starfire felt her heart grow cold at the unspoken message. She felt hurt.

"Let's…let's go," Robin said hoarsely. He pressed a few compartments of his belt. Birdarangs, gas bombs, and even his retractable quarterstaff fell out onto the floor. He walked off.

Starfire bent to pick up the fallen weapons. "Robin, you're…."

"Leave them," he said coldly.

"But…."

"_I said leave them!_" he shouted. The roar stunned her to silence. It was so full of vehemence, anger. He had never talked to her—to anyone—like that before. Not even…not even Slade.

Doctor Light had freed himself from prison. It was a simple matter to put him down. The fight was over practically before it had begun. The Titans cornered him in front of a bank he was robbing, clobbered him senseless. All the Titans fought…except Robin. From the start, he hung back. He didn't lead the charge. He didn't even run support. He just stood there, his facial expression saying that he _wanted_ to fight. But his body didn't obey.

After the authorities had carted Light away, the Titans gathered around their leader, who had drawn into himself, standing in the street tight-lipped and silent. Beast Boy approached warily, extended a caring hand, and said, "Hey, dude…Robin…are you…." But Robin slapped his hand aside, hard enough to bruise.

"Just leave me alone," he growled. He turned and walked off. In his heart, he was not only walking from his friends, but from his own failure. He didn't want to think about how he couldn't fight. About how his very body refused to enter battle. About how fear—fear of being killed, of killing someone else—paralyzed his muscles, froze his mind, made him want to curl up into a ball and cry like a helpless child.

But most of all, he didn't want to think about what would happen if he lost control again. The gunshot still rung in his ears, like a haunting ghost. And the eyes. Oh, God, the eyes.

Moving without thinking, Robin walked alone. He didn't use his grappling hooks, nor his jumplines, nor any mode of transportation but his own two feet. He walked all the way to the hospital, amidst the stares of normal people, who didn't wear masks and didn't fire guns at villains. They pointed and said things, said, "here walks a hero," and "shouldn't that boy be in school?" and "his kind are making violence seem good to kids" and "they're menaces like the criminals they fight."

They were words that he had heard before, back in Gotham. Batman had been the target of many of the jeers. How many times had he heard a psychoanalyst on TV claim that Batman was the cause of many supervillains' psychoses? How many times had he read an editorial on how Batman was no better than the bad guys in the Rogues Gallery? How many times had he, Dick Grayson, ignored it all?

Now it was all starting to make sense. Why heroes were feared, why they were hated, why people blamed them and wanted them gone.

No one stopped him when he entered the hospital. No one tried to restrain him when he went to the emergency ward. The guard on duty didn't say a thing when he pushed open Slade's door.

The room was dark as night, quiet as a grave…except for the beeping of an EKG. It sounded rhythmic, but weak. Slade was not out of the woods yet. And it was Robin's fault for putting him there.

Robin looked at the chart on the bed. Wilson, Slade. Robin didn't even know the man had a last name. He wanted to cry. A last name—a family name. Wilson. Grayson. Wayne. Families. The fact only made Slade—Slade Wilson—look more human, more like a man. Not a faceless monster, not a criminal genius. A human being.

And then Robin realized why Batman never killed, why the thought of taking a life was so repulsive, why it was better to die rather than become a murderer.

"I almost killed you," Robin whispered into Slade's ear. Slade Wilson's ear. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Robin." The voice was like gravel. It was hard. It was cold. It was unforgiving.

Robin didn't turn around. "I…was wondering when you'd show up. The papers…."

"Yes. The papers." A hint of sadness eroded the granite of the voice. But it was quickly recovered. "You crossed the line, Robin. Even if he isn't dead, you used lethal force. Why?"

"I…was afraid. I thought I was going to die." Robin's voice cracked. He forced the words out. "I'm sorry." He didn't know who he was apologizing to now, Batman or Slade, Slade Wilson.

They were silent. The room was silent, except for the beeping of the EKG. Then, He spoke: "One time I almost killed the Joker. For his crimes, for all the people he killed, no one could have said I was in the wrong. But Jim Gordon stopped me.

"Do you know what he said? 'You and I have seen more than our fair share of tragedies and thirsted for revenge. If Batman wanted to be a killer, he could have started long ago. But it's a line.' If I had crossed that line back then, if I had taken the Joker's life, Jim would have come after me. Because in his eyes—in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of everything we stand for—I'd have been no different than the Joker."

Robin said nothing, but he gripped the rails of Slade, Slade Wilson's bed. Beneath the green gloves, his knuckles were white.

"You must want some time alone, Dick," the gravelly voice said. "I'll…talk to you tomorrow."

And suddenly, Robin knew he was alone.

Author's Note: Batman's anecdote about the Joker is actually from the _Batman_ comics, the storyline "Hush," to be precise. I thought it would add to the emotional weight of Robin's gunning of Slade. Also, Slade Wilson is his real name. In the _Batman_ and _Nightwing_comics, Slade's alias is Deathstroke.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Perspectives of the Abyss**

_Part One: Words of a Child_

Beast Boy wasn't the smartest person in the world. His joking nature tended to add to that impression. Never take anything seriously, always act so shallow and pleasure-seeking—or so he seemed. But if Beast Boy never thought with his head, he at least thought with his heart.

Sure, when he had heard Robin had…had shot Slade, he hadn't been the most supportive. He had gone into silence, so shocking was the news. Robin shooting someone? Bogus stuff—had to be. Robin never lost control, ever.

But once the reality of it finally sunk in, after Beast Boy's heart had accepted the truth, he got off his butt and stomped over to Robin's room. Robin had done something horrible, by any superhero's standard. Even if Slade lived, the act was reprehensible to everything that the Boy Wonder stood for. Even Beast Boy could figure out what that meant.

"I mean," the green-furred teen said to himself, "if I hurt someone real bad, I'd feel lousy. And I'd definitely like someone to talk to."

And right now, he knew a friend needed who a friend to talk to.

Maybe he should have knocked on the door, but if he stopped to do that, he might have had time to think. And if he thought, then he would have lost his nerve. So Beast Boy just burst in, forcing a smile on his face.

Even before he could say anything, Robin's haunted voice whispered, "Go away."

But Beast Boy wouldn't be put off so easily. "Look, Robin, I can't say I know what you're going through, but I'm not leaving until you talk to me. Talking always helps me out with problems. You know, telling jokes and stuff and all that. But think about it—if you don't work your way through this, I'll only have Cyborg to play video games with. And where's the fun in beating him all day?"

"…Go away, Beast Boy."

The green-furred teen walked into the dismal room and sat down beside Robin; Robin cringed away from Beast Boy's proximity. "Look, Robin, just talk to me. I mean, yeah, I'm probably not the best person to talk your problems to, but I'm willing to listen."

Beast Boy scratched his head in frustration. "Damn it, that didn't come out the way I wanted it to. Um, how to put it? We…I…well, we're worried, Robin. You've never been like this before. Talk to us. Please. You know we're all here for you, right? So talk to us about it.

"I mean, I can't count the times Raven and Starfire have talked to you about their problems. And Cyborg and I go to you if something comes up. We're going to return the favor. Not because we have to, of course. Er, yeah, that didn't come out right either. Let me try again.

"Talk to us, Robin. Because we're your friends. And friends always stick together. So talk to us."

Beast Boy knew he was rambling. But it was the only way he knew how to bare his soul, to say what he really wanted to say. He only hoped that he got through to Robin.

He didn't.

"I have nothing to say."

* * *

_Part Two: Words of a Brother_

Cyborg tried next. When he entered, he didn't say anything at first. The burly Titan stood behind Robin's still form. It used to be so easy to talk to Robin…before all this. They were like brothers, after a fashion. So easy. Now a wall, insurmountable and unbreakable, had risen between them, walling one of them from everyone else.

"Robin," Cyborg said quietly, "how are you doing, man?" It was awkward, it was nosy. But Cyborg couldn't think of any other way to break the deafening silence.

Robin said nothing.

"Talk to me, Rob. You know you can talk to me. Don't go at it alone, man. It'll eat you up inside, you know it will."

Robin turned to face him, and his glare was as sharp as a knife, as cold as ice. "What gives you the right to make that call, Cyborg?" he hissed angrily. "You have no idea what I'm going through."

Cyborg was taken aback by the venom in Robin's voice, but he continued. "Then tell me. Let me help you, Rob."

Robin turned his head away again. "You wouldn't understand even if I told you. You don't know."

"So tell me so I can know!" Cyborg pressed, beginning to feel a little irritated by Robin's lone wolf mentality. The Teen Titans were team, he thought, so why won't Robin play like a team player?

Silence from Robin. Long, endless, dark silence. And then, "You wouldn't understand," he said again, an edge of cruelty in his voice, an edge of desperate savagery. "You couldn't understand. This isn't something that can be told. You just have to _know_."

"Damn it, Rob…."

"You're just like Beast Boy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Robin's voice grew even colder. "It means that you're both fools, kids. You go about playing at this superhero thing without a goddamn care in the world. I…I was too. I—we—we're all such fucking idiots. Goddamn it." He lowered his head, his cursing trailing off into mumbling.

Cyborg, at a loss for words, silently left the room.

* * *

_Part Three: Words of a Princess_

Starfire didn't want to go in there. She had seen Beast Boy and Cyborg, heard them say how Robin didn't want to talk. How withdrawn he had become. When Slade was sent to the hospital, Robin had cried; there were no tears now. Just…resignation.

Oh, Robin, Starfire thought, if you don't talk to us, you'll destroy yourself.

So she went in.

She didn't say anything and he didn't either. The silence wrapped around them like a cloak. But it did not offer warmth or comfort. It was suffocating, murdering. But she took every step toward him. She didn't say anything when she knelt by him and took him into her embrace. He didn't say anything either.

Starfire had read some flighty romance novels and watched a few films out of curiosity. By her estimation of Earth courting rituals, Robin should have leaned into her touch, should have acknowledged her somehow. But he didn't. He just sat there, unmoving. He could have been a rock. He could have been a corpse. He could have been as still as the man he had shot.

Tears fell from her eyes, landed unheeded and unnoticed on Robin's shoulder. He didn't care. Sitting, unmoving. Uncaring.

Starfire would sit there beside him, arms around him, for a very long time. But his silence and coldness would eventually drive her away. She would leave his room in tears, a silent prayer on her lips: oh, gods in heaven, save this poor young man. Save him from himself.

She would wonder if they even heard her plea.

* * *

_Part Four: Words of a Listener_

When Raven went to the room, she found it empty. Robin had left. A quick scan on the computer detected him on the roof. She found him sitting with his feet dangling over the edge and his cape billowing behind him. His hands were between his thighs and his chin cushioned against his chest. To a casual observer, he could have been asleep, so still was he.

But Raven noticed the occasional shuddering sob, a subtle shift of the shoulders. Raven was good at self-control and discipline, but she knew Robin was a true master. He could balance the focus of a detective and martial artist with the carefree mentality of a hot-blooded teenager. The dichotomy was remarkable, for he could embrace both passion and dispassion with such ease, gaining total control over himself and his emotions.

To see him in this state, with his sorrow and despair on the verge of consuming him, Raven's heart went out to him. Her leader, her friend. Her shattered, precious friend. "Robin," she said stiffly, unaccustomed to starting a conversation.

His head didn't turn, but she saw his muscles tense. He became immovable. Oh, Robin, she thought, what kind of hell are you going through, my friend?

"I don't want to talk, Raven."

She flew to his side and sat down beside him. "That's all right. I don't like talking, either." It could have been a joke, but Raven never joked. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to sit here."

Robin said nothing and neither did she. They sat there for a long time, listening to the wind howl around them, dancing through their capes. Raven shivered, the chill night air finally getting to her. She tugged her cape around her, taking special care to wrap the cloth around her bare legs. Robin didn't stir in the slightest. But he did turn to look at her in concern.

"You should go inside," he said. "You'll catch a cold out here."

"A cold is only a problem of the body," Raven replied. "They go away. Ills go away, wounds heal. You might have a few scars, maybe a little weakness. But that's all. The problems of the mind are what plague you, Robin."

Robin looked at her suspiciously. "I thought you didn't want to talk."

"You didn't either," she reminded him, "but you spoke first. Courtesy dictates I continue the conversation."

"You're not baiting me, Raven," he warned.

"I'd rather not," she agreed, "but remember, you spoke first. So clearly, you want to talk, even if you're too stubborn to admit it. So let's talk."

Robin reluctantly opened his mouth, but Raven pressed a finger against his lips, silencing him.

She looked him in the eyes, purple locking intensely with brown. Holding and mesmerizing, haunting and wise. And then she spoke, "You shouldn't talk unless you want to, Robin. Really want to. If you don't, I'll understand; I don't like talking much, after all. But if you do, I'll be here to listen." Then she took her finger away.

Robin looked away from her and remained quiet for a long moment. Raven thought he would stay that way and felt disheartened by it. But then he spoke. "I…I think I'm ready to talk about it, now." He looked at her, face tight and serious, but finally ready to reconcile. "Thanks for not being pushy about it, Raven."

A ghost of a smile crossed her pale face, curled her small lips. "I noticed the others were trying to force you to talk. I know how annoying that can be." She turned to face him, folding her legs together, giving him her undivided attention. "So, if you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen."

Robin closed his eyes. "As a kid, I was a trapeze artist in a wandering circus. My parents and I would do a lot of really dangerous stunts. But it was always fun. I was a natural, they always said. Then someone wanted to force us and the rest of circus to pay 'protection money.' We didn't want to. They sabotaged my parents' act. It…it killed them."

He started to turn his face away, so Raven wouldn't see his tears. But then he thought about how silly it would be to try and save his pride since he was baring his soul to her. So he let the tears fall.

"The circus stopped being fun after that. I guess that's how I thought about the Titans. It was fun. I was free. Batman wasn't breathing down my neck and being an asshole, for one thing. I felt alive, being with you guys. Crimefighting became a game, I guess. And then…." He trailed off, unable to finish as his throat closed up in a sob.

Raven finished it for him. "And then it stopped being fun. Because of Slade." Her normally distant tone was compassionate now. It was surprising how easily she could fall into the role of compassionate listener, how sincere and comforting her quiet words were. Robin felt like he was speaking to a kindred spirit, someone who somehow _understood_.

"Yeah. Because of Slade." He sighed. "You know, I found out he has a last name. Wilson. Slade Wilson."

Raven blinked. "That's a pretty, um, stout name. Almost silly, in a way."

"I guess. A step above Dick Grayson, that's for sure. But it means that he's…well…like us. All this time, I thought he was this nameless, faceless villain. A damned good one, a genius among geniuses—but I never once thought of him as a human being. I guess that's what was bothering me. I hurt, really hurt, a human being. And what scares is wondering when I'll do it again."

Raven dared to lay a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't rebuffed. Robin leaned into her touch, which became an embrace. She held him close, let his head rest against her collarbone. He could heart her heartbeat.

"Batman always told me that life was precious," he whispered. "That we were never to use lethal force, even in self-defense. He told me that life was sacred, sanctified, precious. I agreed with all that, but I never understood _why_. But Batman knew why—he saw his parents gunned down. When he went after his first bad guy, I'll bet he wanted to kill him. But he must have seen the terror in their eyes, the same terror in his father's eyes. In his mother's. That must have been when he understood.

"I never saw my parents' eyes when they fell from the trapeze. I didn't see the fright. I have no idea what a dying man looked like. But then I saw it in Slade, Slade Wilson. I saw his eyes, Raven, and they'll haunt me to the end of my days."

He shivered and Raven wrapped her cloak around them both. She said nothing. She didn't have to. They sat there, on the roof, until morning.

Author's Note: There's a reason why Raven becomes Robin's "spiritual advisor."I'm neither a fan of Robin X Starfire or Robin X Raven pairings (I'm a Robin X Oracle/original Batgirl fan). However, of the two potential women in Robin's Teen Titan life, Raven seems the one more likely to understand him. Starfire is too...innocent and bubbly. Robin's history is a tragic one, and Raven would, in her own dark way, be more sympathetic to this. She, at least, can understand tragedy. Moreover, as the daughter of an evil being, she can understand having "familial" issues, as Robin and Batman eventually had.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: The Line Between Boy and Man**

When dawn came, so did a shadow. It walked up to the slumbering figures on the rooftop of Titan Tower, shading them from the sun. The sudden chill woke Raven and she looked up. And she gasped, eyes widening.

The Teen Titans were heroes, powerful and coordinated, loyal to one another. They were strong, perhaps even legendary. They fought villains that could stop an army. But Raven beheld a man who could have stopped a thousand armies. This man was a legend among legends. His exploits were the stuff that the Titans aspired to. Cinderblock, Doctor Light, the HIVE…they were nothing compared to the supervillains this man defeated on a regular basis. He did not speak. His presence, towering and imposing, held more than enough authority and awe to stun people to silence.

The Batman had come to Titan Tower.

"You must be Raven," he said in a gravelly voice, observant and alert. "Daughter of an otherworldly being and a mortal woman, gifted with magical abilities, trained at the domain of Azarath, a ghost along the edges of the Teen Titans. Am I correct?"

Raven was initially shocked at Batman's presence, even more so that he knew so much about her, but she quickly regained her composure. "You must be Batman. Your reputation as the world's greatest detective doesn't do you justice," she said coolly. "Not many know the name Azarath, or what it signifies. Much less my heritage. I won't even bother asking how you got here undetected."

"I'm here for Robin."

"He's sleeping."

The eyes of the Batman, hidden beneath the intimidating cowl, narrowed. "I heard about the incident. I talked to him earlier about it. And I came to a decision." The tone was demanding, authoritative, and expected to be obeyed.

But Raven was defiant. "He's sleeping." She adjusted Robin's head so that it was pillowed against her lap. She idly brushed a hand through his hair. "Let him rest."

"Wake him."

"I said he's—"

"Wake him."

Raven locked glares with the Batman. But the daughter of Satan was no match for the Dark Knight. She relented and gently shook Robin awake. His eyes snapped open as soon as he felt that familiar presence. His head bolted from Raven's lap and his eyes locked onto Batman's.

"So you did come," he said stiffly, standing. Raven followed suit. "I don't need anyone to talk to right now," he said. "I've…already reconciled." He gave Raven an appreciative smile, which she returned.

Batman's eyes narrowed at the exchange. He said, "We need to talk, Robin. In private."

Robin walked up to his former mentor, as defiant as the day they became estranged. "What you have to say to me, old man, can be said in front of my friends."

Batman was silent for a moment, but then quietly commented, "You've gotten some of your old spirit back." Louder, he said, "All right, if you insist, your friends will hear what I have to say."

Five minutes later, the gathered Teen Titans stood on the rooftop in the presence of one of the World's Finest. The awe and reverence Beast Boy, Cyborg, and Starfire held for Batman was palpable. Raven hung back, having recovered from her earlier surprise. Robin stood grimly at the head, facing his onetime partner and waiting for what he had to say.

Batman did not make him wait long. "I've watched footage of your recent fight with Doctor Light," he said. "And I saw you hesitate. Badly. You've never reacted like that before, Robin. You claim that you've reconciled with what happened to Slade Wilson. Perhaps your mind believes it to be so. However…."

With a movement that was almost too fast to see, Batman threw a Batarang at his former partner. It struck Robin on the shoulder—his good one. He let out a cry and clutched at the injury, already feeling it bruise. The Titans gathered around him, concerned and suddenly wary of the Batman.

"You couldn't even dodge it," Batman said. "You didn't even see it coming. That's not like you at all. You've become a liability, Robin. You can't fight the way you are now. You're afraid. Of dying or of killing, it doesn't matter. The effect is the same."

His next words were like daggers thrust into Robin's heart: "You're no longer worthy of the costume. As your legal guardian and teacher, I'm taking you off the Teen Titan roster."

"You can't do that!" the Titans shouted, almost in unison. Some of them had harsher things to say.

"You…overbearing bastard!" Robin roared, quickly loosing his temper. "You can't do that to me! What gives you that right?"

Batman was unfazed by his anger. "The law," he said coldly. "The law you and I fight to protect. You're my legal ward and a minor. That means I am responsible for your safety as both your guardian and your teacher. I only let you and Batgirl join me on patrol because I thought you could handle yourselves, because you were trained to fight well. But things have changed. I don't think you can go out there anymore without risking yourself—and those you care about."

Robin's glare shocked his friends. Never before had his eyes held such…outrage. "Look, I made a mistake, Batman. I almost killed a man, a human being. I almost crossed the line. Because I was afraid. I admit it! I was _afraid_! But I'm only human, damn it!"

"That isn't the point, Dick!" Batman shouted back. "You didn't _almost_ cross the line. You _did_. You fired a gun at a man. And look what it did to you. You were a wreck when I found you at the hospital. And now you can barely fight. Because you didn't know. How could you know? Come back home, Dick. Let me help you be worthy of the costume again."

Then Robin did something no one expected. He punched Batman. "You self-righteous son of a bitch!" he growled. "How _dare_ you! Let me tell you something, Bruce. I _am_ worthy of the costume. I am because now I understand. All these years you kept telling me that we had to protect life, that we couldn't kill. You never told me why. But now I know why. I saw his eyes, Bruce. After I shot him, I saw the terror. I _know_." He threw the word at Batman like a diseased piece of rubbish.

Robin walked back to his friends, reflexively taking Raven's hand. She squeezed his. "And even if I didn't know," Robin whispered, "I have people I can count on to help me out."

Robin was going to turn around to give Batman one last look, but there was a rustle of cloth, so he didn't bother. He already knew the Batman had gone.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Part One: The Caped Crusader_

Alfred was once again waiting patiently for his employer's return.

The Batmobile came to a stop and the Batman stepped out, shoulders sagging. He looked tired. He looked old.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" Alfred said, tone almost accusing, but mostly consoling. He knew the inner trial that Batman would have to go through to admit he was wrong—especially in the face of the young lad he had wronged.

"No," Batman said tersely. And in that moment, he was no longer the intimidating Dark Knight, but a mere man, a father who didn't want to see his son grow up and leave the nest, who refused to see the simple truth. How stupid these young people can be, Alfred mused, especially when the bond of love between parent and child comes into play.

"And how is young Master Richard?"

"He seems to have recovered. He isn't ready to fight yet, but…he'll be all right."

"Is that a deduction from the detective?" Alfred asked teasingly.

Batman smiled a genuine smile. "No. It's simple fact."

"But you did not part well, I take it?"

The smile vanished. "No."

"He has his own life to live, Bruce," Alfred said. "I cannot count the times I've wanted you to stop fighting, especially when you were younger and first starting out. But I kept silent because I knew how driven you were. Perhaps Master Richard doesn't have the same intensity you do, but his intentions are no less than your own.

"You raised him well, Bruce. He fights with passion and exuberance. He is largely untouched by the tragedy that befell both your families. Where you had only your sorrow to draw strength from, he had you. But even strength can be smothering, Bruce. Holding onto him as you did, sheltering him…it wasn't right. And so he left. But he took a part of you with him. The part that teaches and the part that learns.

"He almost killed a man, Bruce. Some might have lost control, others might have never donned the cape and cowl ever again. But since Master Richard is not here with you, I assume he's still clinging to it. He's making his own mistakes, Bruce, like you did. And he's learning and learning well. He had a good teacher, after all. Indeed, I think that even if he did kill—heaven forbid it ever happens—I'm positive that Master Richard would grow stronger, purer of heart, from even so dark an experience."

Batman was silent throughout Alfred's impassioned speech, but now he spoke. "Do you really believe that?" He sounded hopeful, sounded desperate to hear an affirmation.

Alfred nodded. "Of course I believe it, Bruce. And so should you. His best traits are taken after you, after all. Now come upstairs. I have a lovely roast goose waiting for us in the dining room…."

* * *

_Part Two: The Boy Wonder_

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Raven asked from where she leaned on Robin's door.

Robin was buttoning up his shirt. "Definitely. Batman was right about one thing, Raven. I'm in no condition to fight. Not until I've _really_ reconciled. So I have to do this."

"Its going to hurt, you know. In the worst way possible."

Robin sighed. "I…I know." Robin—Dick Grayson—looked in the mirror. The costume lay discarded on his desk, mask, cape, and all. He was dressed in street clothes, a rarity in Titan Tower. It seemed so long since he saw himself like this. God, he thought, that was when I was still living in Wayne Manor. So long ago….

"All right," he said to fortify himself, "I'm ready."

As he walked past Raven, the dark-haired girl grabbed his elbow. "It will hurt," she said quietly. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek. "But I'm sure you'll do fine."

He smiled. "Thank you. For everything."

And then he found himself standing before the hospital. The trip was shorter than he wanted it to be, faster than was comfortable. But he steeled himself nonetheless and walked in.

Knocking on Slade, Slade Wilson's door was the hardest thing Robin—Dick—had to do. But he did it.

A familiar voice told him to enter.

"You look different without the mask," Slade, Slade Wilson said.

"So do you," Dick replied.

"I won't bother with real names. We'll only be at each other's throats after I'm out of here."

"Funny, I actually wanted to talk about that. Real names, I mean." Dick sat down on a stool next to Slade, Slade Wilson's bed. He sighed. Now was the hard part. The part that hurt. "I'm…I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For putting you here. I didn't…I didn't mean…aw, hell. I thought I was better than this, you know? I'm Robin, Boy Wonder, Batman's former partner. I could do anything. Life's a big game and I'm winning. Bust up some bad guys, throw them in the slammer. All that. I never thought I could kill someone."

"You didn't. I'm still alive."

"You know what I mean. If you hadn't been wearing that helmet, you'd be dead. And I'd feel a hell of a lot worse. But this isn't about me. This is about you. I…I came to ask your forgiveness."

Silence. The very preposterousness of the situation made Slade, Slade Wilson's face light in amusement. But then he saw the seriousness of Dick Grayson's face. "What would forgiveness do you for, boy?" he asked. "Would it make it easier for you to throw me into a jail cell? To foil my schemes? To punch and kick and beat me?"

Dick's hands trembled. This hurt…a lot. "No. But it would make me—me, the human being, not the superhero—feel better. It would make me feel more…well…human."

"I'm not here to make you feel good, Robin. If anything, I want to make you suffer. I could just say, 'No, I don't forgive you' and watch you torment yourself over shooting me—even though I survived it. Know this, Robin: I could have shot you a million times over and never bat an eyelash. Watching you squirm over nearly killing me will bring me unprecedented joy in the weeks to come."

Dick wanted to lash out. The anger and humiliation was boiling over inside him. He had come in full humility to beg forgiveness for a heinous act—and this bastard had the nerve to…to…Dick forced himself to calm down.

"Your words aren't unexpected, even if they're…painful to hear. But you know what, Slade? I read your chart."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just that you have a last name. Like me. Like Batman and Batgirl. Like Superman and the Joker and Two-Face and a hundred other superbeings. That means we're human beings, of the same core. I'll admit that for a long time, I've thought of you as nothing more than another bad guy to defeat. But your name…that's more than reason enough for me to treat you with the respect due another man. And more than anything else, that's why I want your forgiveness. Because you're human and you're due the respect any human being deserves.

"We'll be enemies after this, don't doubt that. I…and the Titans…we'll be after you, just like always. One day, we're bringing you down. Or maybe you'll bring us down. Who knows? But I know that on that night, I saw the fear of death in your eyes. I saw you looking at the universe as a normal man—one afraid of dying. And I'm here now, begging you to forgive me for putting you through that hell. For now, let's just be normal people."

Dick Grayson extended his hand.

And Slade Wilson took it.

**The End**


End file.
